A deKiller from the Ashes
by Odin.Oddly
Summary: Based on a Kink Meme prompt - 9 year old Phoenix witnesses a murder - by Shelly de Killer. De Killer takes in Phoenix and shows him a softer side. Possible E/P in later chapters.


His ears are still ringing, and he's not sure if he's whimpering or not; He's biting his fist and trying to keep quiet because he doesn't want the man to come after him too, but he's really scared and probably isn't doing a very good job of it. Well, he thinks he is, but then the blood starts running under the desk where he's hiding and he can feel it soaking into his pants and he starts screaming and crying and throwing up and trying to crawl out, because even being shot like the orphanage guy can't be worse than drowning in blood in the dark.

Even though he's being really loud, he can hear a squishing, thudding sort of noise as footsteps approach him through the rapidly spreading pool of blood. He's sniffling now, trembling and terrified that the man is going to kill him too, but unable to maintain the same high level of histeria for too long.

"What's your name." The voice from the man is cold and emotionless, and Phoenix thinks for a moment that the man sounds like a dead body would if it could talk. He forces himself not to look at the body behind the desk with its pants around its thighs, and he tries even harder not to think of anything else that had been happening mere moments before.

"M-my name is Phoenix. Are you going to k-kill me too?" Phoenix doesn't really know why he asked, but the waiting is making him feel even more afraid. He thinks he'll be calmer if he knows what to expect.

"Phoenix, do you understand what was happening before I came here?" The man asks, and again his voice is cold and clinical like the woman who told him he was going to have to go back into foster care.

"N-no..." Phoenix feels like this is the wrong answer, but he and his friends had promised always to tell the truth, and even though Miles had left he was trying really hard to keep his promise.

There is a tense silence, and Phoenix scrunches his eyes shut as he expects to feel the barrel of a gun pressing into the back of his head. The man taps his foot in thought, making a slight splashing noise on the blood covered tiles. "Perhaps this is for the best."

Phoenix experiences a sudden shift in perspective as he is lifted to his feet. "Where are your posessions?" The man asks. Phoenix is afraid to see the face of the devil, and is shocked when instead he meets nondescript, ice blue eyes in a generic face.

"I don't have anything... They took it all when they took my last mom." Phoenix didn't remember much of what happened at that time, even though it had only been a few short days ago. He just remembered the fireman taking his clothes and everything and wrapping him in a blanket, and saying how his new mom had been making bad medicine and that the house wasn't safe anymore.

The man looks sharply at the young boy. Phoenix can't tell what he's looking for but he seems to find it. "Can you be silent?" Phoenix nods slowly in response. "Do so until I tell you it is safe to speak."

Phoenix again experiences a moment of vertigo as his perspective is shifted. He is looking at the mans back, his stomach draped over a black clad shoulder. He bites his lip to hold back a yelp and a scream as the man fiddles with something on his belt and finally jumps out the window.

~*~*~*~

Phoenix sits and stretches in the darkness, wondering at the fuzzy feeling in his head and trying to figure out why he's having trouble getting his body to move right. By the time he shuffles his way out of the fluffy black sleeping bag and to his knees he's starting to get scared again.

The last thing he can remember is going over to Miles' home and finding out that he'd moved. He vaguely recalls making it back to his foster mom's house, but he can't remember anything else. He has the strange sensation that quite some times has passed.

"Hello?" His voice is startlingly loud in the otherwise silent room. "I can hear you breathing..." he says, feeling a little guilty for the small lie. He can't really hear anybody, but he figures that there is little harm in it - if there is someone else in the room they might talk to him and if there isn't, then there is nobody around to call him foolish.

A low chuckle sounds somewhere toward his left, and Phoenix resists the urge to jump. "No you can't, but it was still a nice try, fledgling."

Phoenix doubts the other man can see it, but he feels his ears getting hot at being caught at the lie. "You're right. I'm sorry I fibbed."

The chuckle morphs into a full laugh and Phoenix feels slightly less frightened. "How old are you, Phoenix?"

His eyes are wide now and heart pounding. He doesn't remember telling this man his name. He worries for a moment that his foster mom actually had sold him for ingredients before calming himself enough to answer. "I'm nine, sir." He knows his voice sounds whimpy, rather than the confident timbre that he'd achieved earlier.

"Nine? Older than I thought. Did you sleep well? How do you feel?" The voice snaps between a pensive drawl and all-business so quickly Phoenix thinks of the icicles he and Miles broke off the eaves of his father's home.

"I... I slept well." Phoenix is slightly puzzled. He doesn't feel tired, but his body feels weak and he can't figure why. "I feel strange... Like noodles."

"That is to be expected. Sleep. The next time you wake it will be daylight. We will talk."

Phoenix shuffles back into his sleeping bag, and is comforted by the residual heat of his body in the bag as he melts into the fabric. He closes his eyes, and the world swims into nothing.

~*~*~*~

The next time Phoenix wakes he can see light streaming through the bottom of a door, and smell sausage on the air. This time when he stretches he feels normal, if a little stiff from sleeping on the floor. The room, rather than being immersed in complete darkness, is a dull grey hue with diffused light. Phoenix can make out another sleeping bag and an alarm clock, both lying on the carpeted floor. The room is otherwise bare.

He crawls out of the warmth of the sleeping bag and onto the carpet and stands, taking stock. He's wearing his favorite pair of jeans, but they're covered in a strange brown stain. Phoenix frowns and tries to brush himself off. He doesn't know where he is (or who that strange man the night before was) but he's certain that his foster-mom will be very angry about his being so dirty in front of a stranger.

It is a worrying thought, and he steps toward the door. 'Perhaps there is a bathroom I can use to wash my pants in before someone sees me...' His hands feel dry and flaky too, and he realizes that whatever substance('Mud?' he thinks) he has all over his pants is coating his hands as well.

Looking for a moment at his filthy hands and at the pristine door knob, he wraps his hand in his shirt before grasping and turning the handle. The door opens smoothly and silently, leading into a perfectly white hallway. His eyes water in momentary protest as they adjust to the bright light that is blinding in comparison to the dim room behind him.

The only color breaking the bleak monotony of the hallway is a thin strip of silver metal on the floor delineating the end of the crisp white carpet and the white linoleum (in what he assumes is the kitchen) to his far left. The other end of the hallway disappears around a corner and Phoenix finds his feet wandering away from the sound and smell of breakfast being prepared.

His curiosity carries him all the way around the corner and impels him to grasp another door-knob. It twists easily and the click as the lock disengages makes his heart pound. 'I'm looking for a bathroom, that's all...' he tells himself as he pushes the door inward (though he internally squirms at the small fib, even inside his own head). He has the feeling that he's about to find something of great importance behind the painted white door with its shiny silver knob.

He freezes and somehow manages to neither jump nor scream as a black gloved hand is suddenly covering his and pulling the door shut. "You're very brave, to go wandering around in a strange house all by yourself without permission."

Phoenix debates sharing the half-truth in his mind for a moment. but he has the feeling the strange man can see through it. He says nothing, and turns to look at the man's face.

He is an unremarkable looking man – neither short nor tall, handsome nor homely. His blonde hair is neatly trimmed and matches his pale skin. He looks harmless. His blue eyes are crinkled at the edges, but Phoenix doesn't feel like the amused, smirking smile reaches quite as deep as the man intends it to. He can feel a chill run up his spine at the emptiness of the other's eyes.

"Come to breakfast. We'll talk once you've eaten."

Phoenix nods and follows back down the hallway.

The man shuts the open door Phoenix had slept behind and turns for a moment to address the boy padding behind him."I expect all doors in the house to be shut at all times. No exceptions. Do you understand?" The words, though terse are not harshly spoken and Phoenix is does not feel censured, merely informed.

"Yes sir."

'Is the whole house white?' Phoenix thinks, taking a good look at the utilitarian room. The floor and cabinets are white and completely spotless; the counter tops are made up of a pale sparkling marble that hardly adds any relief to the stark scene. The only color in the room comes from the stainless steel refrigerator and toaster, and the eggs and sausage breakfast sitting on plates waiting to be eaten.

Phoenix followed the other man to a bar at the end of one counter and clambered onto a stool. The man said nothing as he started eating, Phoenix anxiously following suit. He triesto be unaware of the strange, coppery smelling mess on his hands but the smell is making him ill for reasons he can't quite pin down. It isn't a particularly strong smell, dried as is it is, nor is it particularly unpleasant, it is simply making more and more anxious with every bite. By the time he finishes eating his stomach is tied in a knot and he's becoming more and more anxious about the man staring at him.

The man is watching him closely. Phoenix has both the feeling of being tested, and a strange feeling of deja`vu. He says nothing of his discomfort and pushes his plate away. He doesn't know what the man is waiting for, but he has rarely been in trouble for staying silent, so he simply holds eye contact. They are in silence for several long minutes, neither moving as the tension mounts. Phoenix becomes aware that he really does have to use the bathroom, and that he _really _ wants to get the weird mud off of his hands and trousers. He's so intent on sitting still and not being a nuisance as he stares at the man that it takes him a moment to realize he is being spoken to.

"Did you enjoy breakfast?" The kind words feel empty, and Phoenix is struck by the thought that the man is uncomfortable with small talk.

"Yes sir." There are a few seconds of awkward silence. "Thank you for cooking for me," he adds, resisting the urge to shuffle in his seat.

"What do you remember?" He asks. His voice is not entirely expressionless this time, though it is close.

Phoenix drops his forehead and looks at the man through slightly narrowed eyes. He worries for a moment that his foster mother will run out and reprimand him for being rude, but the question is so open Phoenix is having trouble knowing what type of answer to give. "What do you mean?" He asks, hoping that clarification will give him enough clues to tell the man what he wants to hear. .

"Nine, and already suspicious. Interesting. What do you remember of your arrival here?" For the first time, Phoenix thinks he can hear something warm and human in the voice.

Phoenix scans his memories, and answers with a rising sense of dread. "I... I don't remember anything." Thousands of questions spring to mind, but years of experience still his tongue. He worries that any impertinence (perceived or otherwise) will not well received, and though the man has offered him no violence, he fears the stoic blonde more than he had ever feared the belt or fists of any of his foster parents.

The man's next words, "Perhaps this is for the best," strike a chord in Phoenix, but he is uncertain of why exactly. "You will stay with me from now on. You have led a short, tragic life with no stability and even less reason so this will be a strange concept for you, but you can trust me. I may not tell you everything, but I will never lie to you. Do you understand?"

Phoenix stares at the man for a moment, then takes stock of the empty room around them. This is the first time any adult has said such things without other adults present. His eagerness to accept is tempered strongly by his experience. It is with no small trepidation that he nods his head. "I understand.."

The man nods back. "Understanding is a start, acceptance will come in time. Have you finished with your plate?"

The quick subject change catches Phoenix ruminating on the previous statement, so it takes him a moment to nod.

"Follow." Phoenix climbs gracelessly from his stool as the man rises to his feet.

He flushes and immediately tries to imitate the silent steps of the man in front of him as he realizes just how _loud_ his steps are in comparison. After a few stumbling attempts his foot falls are completely camouflaged by the dense carpeting in the hallway and he feels like he's figured out the gliding step of his new mentor.

"This is where we sleep. It is intentionally spartan. You'll get used to it, and the reason will eventually become clear to you. Do you have any questions?"

"No sir."

They move on to the next door – the one Phoenix had tried opening earlier. After such a strange encounter, Phoenix was expecting a lot more than an empty room with a blue gym mat floor. "This is the first place we will go in the mornings, and the last room we will visit before bed. There is a lot for you to learn. Do you have any questions?"

Only a million, Phoenix thinks, but does not say. His words are hesitant. "I'm sure... everything will make sense later..." Phoenix doesn't want to say anything stupid, especially since the man was nice enough to take him in and feed him.

"This is true." The man says. He looks at his charge for the first time since breakfast. "You're going to learn how to fight here, fledgling."

"So people won't pick on my any more?" Phoenix asks. His ears are filled for a moment with the taunts of his class mates – 'Thief! Meanie! Liar! Don't play with him any more...' until finally, 'Objection!' It was only a few brief weeks that he'd been friends with Miles, and already he was sad that he might not get to see the other boy again. One of his foster fathers had explained 'cosmic intervention' to him; meeting Miles Edgeworth had felt a lot like that to Phoenix.

"... Partially." The man responds, and closes the door. Phoenix isn't sure how the man managed to make the door shut with a sense of expectancy rather than finality. It makes him nervous and he doesn't quite know why.

"Through this door are the facilities – immediately following training you will bathe, and we will retire for breakfast. This room," he steps through another door into a dark room and flips a switch. "This room contains the library." Shelf after shelf is piled high with books, surrounding a simple table and utilitarian chairs. In jarring contrast to the rest of the house, the library is painted in warm colors with a soft beige carpet. "We will study here following breakfast. There may be days I cannot join you – I will tell you in advance. I expect you to maintain your studies in my absence. Do you have any questions?"

"What will I study?" Phoenix asks. His eyes are wide with awe; he likes libraries.

"Many things, Phoenix. There is much for you to learn." Again, the strange man's voice is full of warmth.

Phoenix isn't sure of what to say to that, so he continues following in silence. By the time they finish the tour of the house, Phoenix's head is spinning, and he's certain that he'll never keep all of the rooms straight in his head. Fortunately, the man made it clear that most of their time is to be spent together. A casual inquiry into the reason why revealed that constructive proximity is an effective way to establish trust.

Phoenix decides to file that thought away for further analysis later.

The yard is huge, and Phoenix is convinced that the man must have an entire county to himself. There is one dirt road leading up to the large (white) house, and no other access visible. There is a trail leading off to what looks like horse pastures, and a foot path leading into the woods.

There are strange plants and trees – things he doesn't recognize and Phoenix experiences a moment of panic. "Sir, are we still in California?"

"No, fledgling. I'm proud of you for spotting it. We are in Washington. You're starting a new life here." The man kneels in front of Phoenix and ice blue eyes meet ocean blue eyes in an intense stare. "Things are going to be different Phoenix. You can trust that I'm going to take care of you, and that I'm going to teach you. You will work hard, learn honor, and become strong. I'm already very proud of you, and I'm sure you'll continue to do yourself a credit."

Phoenix can feel his ears burning. Nobody has ever said such nice things about him before, and even though it seems like there is something he is forgetting, Phoenix can feel his feelings softening toward the strange man.

"Sir?" His voice is meek.

"Yes, fledgling?"

"W-what's your name?"

"You may call me by my given name; I am Shelly de Killer."


End file.
